


Warm Me Up

by catchsparks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3080531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchsparks/pseuds/catchsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His face is red from exertion and the cold, but that stupid smile of his lights up as his face as he laughs at her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. She can feel the cold begin to seep through her leggings, and she tries to be mad about it, tries to focus on how she’s going to strangle him without witnesses in a crowded park. But then he props himself up on his elbows, eyes matching what she hopes is the iciest glare she’s ever given him, and as he kisses her full on the mouth, she feels a laugh escape her throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Me Up

Annabeth hates the snow.

She loves fall, and even winter is something she can deal with; a necessary evil that brings her Christmas and sweaters and time off for her to enjoy life and its (sort of) normalcy with Percy in a time after Tartarus and after the war and after the first few stages of grieving and healing.

Snow is not something to falls into her spectrum of tolerance. She’s irritated at the first sight of a flurry and by the time the city is blanketed in white, her blood is boiling.

This is something Percy has never been able to comprehend. Every year he seems personally insulted at the idea of her disdain, as if she’s told him water is the most vile thing in existence.

“But it’s pretty,” he argues.

She arches an eyebrow at him. “A lot of things are pretty, Percy. Doesn’t make them any less annoying.”

“Yeah, I see your point.”

She scowls at him before punching him in the shoulder for good measure. His laughter is almost as irritating as the snow that won’t stop falling outside their window. The truth is, snow reminds her of a childhood she never really got to experience. She knows it’s stupid, knows it’s projecting and displacing her anger, and she certainly knows there are more important things to worry about. But she can’t help it, regardless of how many promises she makes to herself not to get irrationally upset about a stupid form of precipitation. 

It also reminds her of Khione’s ambush on the Argo II, which re-opens an entirely different set of wounds.

“Hey,” Percy says suddenly, and she recognizes the tone immediately: _I’m-determined-to-take-your-mind-off-whatever-it-is-that’s-bothering-you_. 

“Put your boots on, come on.”

“What?”

“Put your boots on.”

“Why?”

He tugs at her arm, pulling her off the bench with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Because you’re off work today, and I’m off work today, and we should do more than sit here and stare out the apartment window while you mope about snow.”

“But I’m so good at sitting,” she says, even though she’s already standing and letting him drag her to the front door. The snow had been enough to shut down her office (a rarity in New York), but she had sketches due at the end of the week that she had planned to continue working on from home - except Percy Jackson was the biggest distraction in the history of distractions. She figures if she appeases him now, she can negotiate a little time to work later.

She pulls her boots on and hands Percy his coat before zipping and buttoning hers. They grab hats, scarves, and gloves and then they’re out the door. Before they even reach the lobby of their apartment complex, Annabeth already feels the drop in the temperature creeping its way up the stairwell. By the time they’re outside, Annabeth realizes she has made a grave mistake.

“Percy,” she starts, logic and reasoning already crafting an excuse to go back inside. “It’s really cold - “

“Can it, Wise Girl.” He grabs her hand, pulling her along beside him. 

The sidewalk is mostly clear, save for some residual slush in the path people’s feet have carved out across the cement. For a while, they say nothing, she just matches her step with his and lets his arm drape across her shoulder. After three blocks, it becomes clear he’s leading her to the closest park, and she can hear children shouting and screaming and laughing. Percy grins at the noise, nodding and speaking to everyone they pass as they enter the park. Her heart swells at little at this, because his cordiality and genuine friendliness remind her of that twelve-year-old she met so long ago, and it almost buries the months after the war, the darkness and the silence they both endured as they fought to breathe again.

She gets so wrapped up in remembering, that she doesn’t notice when Percy’s hand leaves her back, doesn’t notice that he treks off the walkway, crouches down and packs snow tightly together between his gloved hands. It’s only after the snowball is already sailing through the air, millimeters from impact that she realizes something is amiss. The ball bursts into powder across her shoulder, and she can only stand there stunned and pissed as every micro-detail she absolutely hates about snow is currently soaking the fabric of her jacket.

“Perseus. Jackson.” She enunciates every syllable, teeth ground together. “I swear to the Gods - “

Another ball hits her, a few inches to the right of where his first snowball made impact, and he is sprinting before she can even finish her threat. She lunges forward in hot pursuit, years of training and muscle memory working together to close the gap from the head start he’s given himself. When she catches him, he’s dead. So dead.

He cuts across the park, dodging a kid on a sled, eyes focused on the west entrance. Annabeth turns her head, mentally noting the landscaping and the paths and the startled bystanders. There’s a large row of bushes coming into Percy’s path, and she knows he’s going to go right before he even does it. He chances a look back at her and she feints right, before going left and hurdling over the bushes. It’s impressive - even for Annabeth - and it’s enough to make him give up before she even follows through with the tackle. 

They crash to the ground, sinking into the cold and wet blanket of snow with Percy beneath her. And she’s going to kill him, crush him like the pesky little bug he is, and -

_Is he laughing?_

His face is red from exertion and the cold, but that stupid smile of his lights up as his face as he laughs at her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. She can feel the cold begin to seep through her leggings, and she tries to be mad about it, tries to focus on how she’s going to strangle him without witnesses in a crowded park. But then he props himself up on his elbows, eyes matching what she hopes is the iciest glare she’s ever given him, and as he kisses her full on the mouth, she feels a laugh escape her throat.

For a second, she forgets where they are, until she hears a throat clear from an elderly couple strolling slowly along the path they’ve landed next to. It startles them both and they pull apart, expecting to meet a judgmental glare. Instead, an old man sheepishly smiles and gives Percy a thumbs up as his wife tries to hide a smile and shakes her head at his antics.

It’s probably the cutest thing she’s ever seen, and she feels a familiar warmth and pressure in her chest as she stands, extending her hand and helping Percy out of the bank of snow (even though she should leave him there for good measure). She shakes the snow from her torso and legs, as Percy brushes remnants of the snowballs he’d thrown off her shoulder. He’s not even wet, because of course he’s not, stupid Son of the Sea God.

“You got lucky, Seaweed Brain.” 

“Not yet,” he says casually, readjusting the blue beanie covering the wild mess of his hair. “But soon.” And then he walks away, clearly satisfied with himself.

And Annabeth can’t help it.

“Percy!”

He turns around, mouth open to reply, and Annabeth lets the ball sail through the air. It’s not a perfectly round shape by any means, and it starts to fall apart in mid-arc because she hasn’t packed it tightly enough, but it hits him square in the jaw and leaves little crystal remnants of snowflakes and water in the day old stubble covering his face.

He stands there, stunned, before a proud smile practically splits his face in half. 

“That’s probably the sexiest thing you’ve ever done,” he remarks as they head out of the park, arm draped across her shoulders once again. 

She rolls her eyes, teeth chattering as she sees bursts of her own breath in front of her. “I’ll remember that’s what gets you going next time.”

“Don’t tease. You know I love it when you talk dirty.” 

“Snow. Icicles. Wind chill below freezing.”

“Mm,” he hums into her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Keep going.”

She laughs, veering to the left as they make their way up the front steps to their building. Although colder than their apartment, the lobby is still a welcome escape from the biting chill outside. The snow has seeped through her gloves and she clenches her firsts in an attempt to get any sort of warmth to her fingers. Her legs are cold, too, having sunk into the snow when she tackles Percy. She’ll have to do laundry, she thinks, but there are necessary sacrifices in every battle. 

Percy gets the door to the apartment open, stepping to the side and motioning for her to go first. She moves by him briskly, thankful she’d given in and pushed the heat up that morning. She pulls her gloves off first, freeing her hands to unbutton her peacoat and hang it on the rack by the door. She tosses her hat on top and runs her hands through her curls, pulling at the tangles caused from the dampness and wind. Percy’s already in the kitchen, reaching into the cabinets for the instant hot chocolate he keeps at the ready.

“I’m going to change!” She calls to him over her shoulder, but his head is buried into the fridge for milk and whipped cream so he doesn’t answer her.

She pulls her socks and leggings off and is in the middle of pulling her sweater over her head when she senses his presence in the bedroom. She hears him set two mugs down before she feels him behind her, pulling the sweater the rest of the way over her head.

“Those better be on coasters.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her and pressing against her. He’s literally radiating heat and he must feel how cold she is because he starts to rub his hands up and down her arms. 

They stand there like that, pressed together with his chin resting on top of her head (because he’s no longer that scrawny twelve-year-old), as Percy hums along to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” He eventually stops rubbing her arms, sliding his palms down to entwine his fingers with hers as he steps back, pulling her into a half-spin/half-twirl thing to get her to face him. 

He’s still humming, but she watches his eyes flit down to her bare thighs and exposed stomach, and his tune falters a little. She thinks about calling him out on it, but he presses against her again, guiding them back and forth in a square across the room. As his tune comes to an end, he dips her (at an awkward angle, but it’s endearing nonetheless) and pulls her back up into a kiss. It’s almost smooth. Almost.

Her hands roam up, pushing the beanie off his head so she can run her fingers through his hair and deepen the kiss. When her fingers slide down the pulse point on his neck, she feels him flinch.

“Hands! Cold!”

She pulls back, frowning at him. “Your fault.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, closing his hands over hers and squeezing gently. His leg slides between hers, creating pressure where she needs it most. 

She pulls against the hoodie he’s still wearing, balling it in her fist as she kisses him hard. She can feel him through his pants, and it sends a rush of heat all the way down to her toes. He’s backed her against the bed far enough that the muss of sheets against press against the backs of her knees, and she pulls Percy down with her as she lets herself fall. His lips start work a familiar path down her body and she raises her hips automatically so he can get her panties off, hooking her legs over his shoulders and digging her heels into his back when she feels his tongue start to undo her. She feels her muscles tensing and tightening as her back arches and her hips start to rock against his face by their own accord, and she tries so hard to hold on. 

But it’s too much.

“Fuuuuck,” she half-moans/half-growls as she comes because she can’t help it. He’s so good at this, has always been so good at this, and even though she knows he’s well aware of it, she knows he also loves being reminded (besides, Percy’s always had this ridiculous thing for her and profanity). 

When her eyes re-open and re-focus and her body relaxes and her toes uncurl, the first thing she sees is the snow falling harder outside the window, validating the weatherman’s earlier claim that more snow would move in by the evening. 

But as she feels Percy’s lips move from navel to breast to collarbone to mouth and sees the hungry look on his face that promises he is far from through with her, she thinks that just maybe she should re-evaluate her opinion of snow days.


End file.
